


Abandonment

by spirkylurkey



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedelia and Will are mourning, F/M, Hannibal Escapes, Hannibal is alive but is also a jerk, Hannibal's house, Hate Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirkylurkey/pseuds/spirkylurkey
Summary: Hannibal got the fuck out of Dodge a year ago, leaving Will Graham his home and a lot of unresolved feelings. Bedelia feels much the same way. AU where Will and Bedelia both survive Hannibal Lecter, branching off of that "Bride of Frankenstein" comment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted broken! Will and Bedelia to kinda come together in an unhealthy way (pun intended) but my voice for both of them is still pretty unstable, and I can't maintain anything other than Hannigram for more than one chapter, so that'll be the resolve in the second chapter, though this can be read as a standalone with a semi-happy ending.

This has been going on for far too long, and they both know it. 

It never should have begun in the first place. This arrangement has been debatably therapeutic for them both, or at least it started that way, but Hannibal’s been gone over a year now and it’s turned sour, not that it ever was sweet. 

In fairness, it’s not always like this, so hateful. They’ll never like each other, but some nights Bedelia comes, careful face of makeup creased, fine clothes wrinkled, tired. Will always receives her at the door and guides her in, pulling hard liquor from Hannibal’s reserves. Neither of them can much stand the taste of wine nowadays. 

They drink till they both go soft around the edges before they fuck. They always fuck. Neither of them seems to know why. They lay on Hannibal’s bedding, worn from Will’s refusal to do anything but wash and preserve what Hannibal left him, and give more of their lives to him. 

After, they lie there, always in the darkness, sides pressed together as they look up at the ceiling. One of them will start to let the words flow, things they can only tell each other. “I still want him,” Will says one night, solemn. Bedelia reaches out a hand silently, and together they lie, hands clasped together, wishing for all the world that they could do anything else.

 

Unfortunately, tonight is not one of those nights where they mourn their abandonment like two strays. She had arrived agitated, and he had quickly been sucked in, as was his nature.

“Is that why you do it?” she asks from underneath him in the night-quiet of Hannibal’s master bedroom, the place they always do this. It feels all at once like a sin and a sacrifice to the temple of the undying Hannibal Lecter. 

“Clarify,” Will says, his voice unaffected by his compromising position. “You’re aware what I’m speaking of:” she replies, “that you are likely here because I am a very poor but passable substitute for Hannibal Lecter.” 

Will chuckles, a harsh, mirthless thing. “As far as I recall,” he says, “Hannibal left this house to me. I’m here because I live in it. Live to haunt it. Either or. You come to me.” Bedelia clucks his name, seeing the avoidance for what it is. Will’s upper lip ticks up; the shadow of a grimace. “Considering that I’m the exact same to you, I think we should leave the psychoanalysis at the door, Dr. Du Marier.” 

Even in the dark, Will senses Bedelia’s raised eyebrow. “You’re nothing like him,” she counters. “Of course not,” Will says, “but I’m everything he used to want personified. Sure, I’m not as fine-tuned as I was under Doctor Lecter’s impeccable care, but I still have all the essentials. He’s gone, but his brainwashing remains. I’m still as broken as he found me, and as dark as he left me. You are a piss-poor Hannibal, and I’m a piss-poor Will. We match now. That’s why.” 

Bedelia goes quiet. Will thrusts harder now, agitated. Bedelia silences a broken moan. “There’s no one else here, Bedelia. No reason to quiet down. Unless you actually enjoying it feels like being unfaithful to Lecter,” Will snaps at her, words edged razor-sharp. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, he left the both of us behind. You’re no better than I, sleeping in his carcass of a home, still eating at his table every night. Letting everything gather dust,” she retorts. 

She hisses as his rhythm becomes rough, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain. She decides to deliver the same to him, says, “Hoping he’ll come back to you, not knowing whether you want him to snap your neck or take you with him. Either way, Will Graham will die in this house.” 

Will comes, growling, his face contorted in rage and grief. Bedelia follows him. She dresses in the dark, feeling for the puddles of silk she’d left on the floor. Will listens to her stilettos click on the floor as she exits the house. Will falls asleep in Hannibal’s bed.

It is weeks before she comes back. She is worn, her hair frizzy from the downpour outside and her outfit soaked. Will brings her a large, worn flannel and a large cut crystal glass nearly brimming with whiskey. She sits in the uncomfortable antique chair in front of the fireplace. After a while, they climb the stairs. At this point, it’s almost become Sisyphean. 

Hannibal’s bed is warm and the sex is the same, Will seeming to sense her need to chase the peculiar chill from her chest. He presses down on her, his perspiring chest the exact kind of stifling heat she needs. She feels grateful to him for this. After they finish, he leaves her wrapped in covers to move the heavy drapes to the side and look at the weather. Thunder cracks in the distance, and he shakes his head at her. 

She makes it out of the bed and down the hall before he catches up. He presses his hand against hers, halting her grab for the dusty doorknob of the guest bedroom. With a glance, she knows he can’t have it. 

Will Graham has spent this year a ghost, drifting between Hannibal’s bed to his bathroom to his kitchen, occasionally venturing to the study to warm himself in front of the fireplace. He is stagnant. To open another door would be motion that he cannot handle. She lets herself be led back to the bedroom. They lay in bed. Will never releases her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.  
> -William C. Hannan

Hannibal comes that same night. He had not known if Will would stay, would accept his gift, and is pleased to see the battered Volvo in front of his home. 

His key to the front door slides in easily; it causes him a strange mix of anger and pleasure that Will would not bother to change the locks. Either he hasn’t any faith that Hannibal would come back, or he has the good sense to know that Hannibal can’t be kept out. He takes his time, walking through his home with minimal light. The house is clean, but covered in a distasteful layer of dust. Will appears to be in mourning. The thought is a pleasant one. 

Curiously, he smells Bedelia’s perfume in the air, her lipstick on the rim of his favorite set of cut crystal, and her clothes draped over a chair. They are the only other signs of life in the house.

He ascends the stairs slowly and quietly, turning into his bedroom. The latch clicks quietly, the light from the hall casting a miniscule glow upon the two sleeping figures. For a moment, Hannibal is filled with rage, the desire to kill them both bubbling to the surface. He calms quickly, however, and walks to the bed.

He reaches over to Bedelia, cradling her face in his hands, admiring her. He snaps her neck cleanly, lays her back in bed just as she was. He slips in between her body and Will’s on the bed, feeling her body cool behind him as he smooths his hands over Will’s hair and waits for him to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned y'all it was gonna end in Hannigram


End file.
